


Honey I Summoned A Demon

by DarkShadeless, MercuryPilgrim



Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Cross-Posted on Tumblr, Demons, M/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Spicing up your relationship with a little accidental demon summoning, Witches
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:49:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27865646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkShadeless/pseuds/DarkShadeless, https://archiveofourown.org/users/MercuryPilgrim/pseuds/MercuryPilgrim
Summary: When Ven plays around with sidewalk chalk and magic circles, no one expects it to actually work.
Relationships: Malavai Quinn/Male Sith Warrior
Comments: 13
Kudos: 16





	1. The Build Up (Part 1)

**You can read the exchange on Tumblr[here](https://darkshadeless.tumblr.com/post/631719747853107201/me-i-just-ordered-a-64-pack-of-sidewalk-chalk)**

* * *

** nerdlingwrites **

_Me: I just ordered a 64 pack of sidewalk chalk._

_Spouse: Of what?_

_Me: Sidewalk chalk. For my satanic ritual boulder._

_Spouse: *nods and goes back to the kitchen*_

It should be noted that this is NOT the strangest conversation we’ve had today. That involved peanut butter crackers.

Now which one of your OTP buys the chalk, and which one nods and leaves the room? 😂🤣😂🤣😂🤣

** darkshadeless **

Well, Mal is for sure the one leaving the room. But would ven buy the chalk?

@mercurypilgrim

** mercurypilgrim **

Of course he would. ;)

He’s probably seen something neat online and has immediately decided that needs to do whatever it is, having thought about consequences exactly _zero_ times.

He probably doesn’t have half of the things he needs for it, hasn’t planned it at all, but he _needs to do the fun thing._

So he does.

And Mal just prepares to help him clean up the inevitable mess.

XD

** darkshadeless **

… brb i need to cackle about modern AU Ven summoning Yon in his backyard with Malavai’s first, incredibly done thought being that OF COURSE it’s an incubus. WHAT ELSE WOULD HIS HUSBAND (or crush they are dancing around) SUMMON IN THEIR BACKYARD with FIVE POUNDS OF AMAZON BOUGHT CHALK and GLITTER. WHAT ELSE. XD

** mercurypilgrim **

Yon, standing there in his flower crown with only his jewellery stopping him from being very naked.

Ven, covered in glitter and chalk, looking surprised and delighted.

Mal, his head in his hands, sighing.

XD

** nerdlingwrites **

*grabs popcorn*

This is good shit, please continue! (And way more exciting than my actual use for the chalk, though I might order some glitter now.)

** mercurypilgrim **

Oh _no_.

@darkshadeless and I end up ruining everyone’s dash with our back and forth OC drama! <3

—

Mal stares, a fugue of shock and confusion clouding his brain.

 _What_.

Ven is covered in a fine layer of cheap chalk and a delicate dusting of golden glitter, which was apparently the only colour he could acquire in the quantities he wanted with their one-day delivery subscription.

He is beaming, his eyes huge and glitter nesting in his hair.

Malavai pinches the bridge of his nose, hoping that when he looks up again, the… _man_ , would be gone.

He looks, so sure that he’s having some kind of hallucinatory moment that he’s all ready to launch into a lecture about getting glitter over their patio.

He isn’t gone, and is instead peering curiously at his surroundings as though they are the strange ones.

He isn’t wearing any _clothes_.

He has _horns_ , and a _flower crown_.

Feeling his cheeks heating up, Mal pointedly doesn’t look at the collection of delicate jewelry that keep the man, well, he doesn’t want to say _modest_.

“Ven,” he croaks, “ _What did you do?_ ”

@darkshadeless

** darkshadeless **

HA! Looks like we will XD I love our OC drama

—

The smoke lifts in a breeze that is a _little_ nippy for Yon’s tastes and the first thing he registers is that this summoner seems to be a polite one.

That or stupid.

At any rate, there is nothing attempting to hold him where he has deigned to be called up. The circle is a bit… well it is wonky. The lines are all over the place. It’s a wonder this worked, really. He’ll give them points for style though. The glitter is a nice touch.

Please don’t let this be another child desperately looking for a friend. His kind’s entry in the Vox Magica might term them as ‘friendly (if dangerous)’ but they are really not that kind of friend.

That Yon can throw a tea party with the best of them is not the _point_.

But no. No children, tearful or otherwise. How nice. He _was_ getting a little peckish.

The smoke clears, the glitter settles and he gets his first glimpse of his summoner-

Uhm.

Tall, rather fit and entirely dishevelled, he looks a little like he has had an accidental run in with the mock-up front of an occult shop. The robe hastily thrown over a t-shirt and jeans is more of a bath robe than anything else.

There are _feathers_ in his hair and not the stylish kind. They look a little likes they got tangled in it during…. whatever… he was doing.

If that is what’s left of the sacrifice, that poor bird must have exploded.

Bit little of a mess for that though.

Yon musters the man, the excitement on his face that is as bright as the passion that was poured into his summoning and he can’t quite keep the confusion off his face. “You… are not the witch I expected.”

** mercurypilgrim **

Ven, frankly, is having the _best_ time.

He’d originally spotted the ‘Pentacle Challenge’ online and decided that it looked fun, so before he knew it he was ordering a huge pack of sidewalk chalk and a bucket of glitter because while the video didn’t say he needed glitter, was there anything that _wasn’t_ made better by glitter?

And he’d needed to irritate Malavai because he’d called the whole thing ‘stupid’ when Ven had asked if he could use the chicken they’d bought for sunday dinner as a ‘sacrifice’. 

It was a dead animal, he’d argued.

It’s supposed to be dinner, Malavai had sighed.

He might have gotten too excited and spilled glitter when he was trying to trace the chalk outline of what was absolutely not something as simple as a pentacle. 

Malavai might have told him he was cleaning it up alone if he felt he had to go through with this

But now it had _worked_.

He was sure it had something to do with the feathers he’d plucked off an old halloween decoration he’d found when he was rooting for the too big bathrobe he knew he had somewhere, and stuck in his hair.

It gives him the _aesthetic_.

The man- demon- whatever he is, isn’t wearing many clothes and Ven can really appreciate the front row view he’s getting of just how little he’s actually got on.

Hmm, _very_ nice.

He’s aware his cheeks ache from smiling so hard, but he’s giddy. He’s just done _magic_. He’d always known his Hogwarts letter got lost.

He’s vaguely aware of Malavai spluttering behind him, but he’s not paying much attention to anything but the actual demon that’s in front of him, peering at him like he’s confused.

“You… are not the witch I expected.” He says, and Ven is this close to sighing over his _voice_.

He opens his mouth to answer, but the sound that meets his ears is not his own voice or the lovely velvet of the man in front him.

“Ven, you _idiot!_ ”

He knows that screech.

He turns his head to see Malavai marching towards him, crimson cheeked and furious.

His beloved partner strides right up to them, brow furrowed and usually immaculate appearance rather ruffled.

He musters the demon that stares at him like he’s a zoo animal, and glares.

Ooh, ice cold.

Ven is about ready to swoon.

Malavai takes a breath, and folds his arms.

“Sorry for bothering you,” he grinds out, “But this was a _mistake_. Wrong number.”

Ven blinks.

“Aww Mal- no- you can’t be boring and sensible _now_!” he protests, “We just summoned… some hot demon guy!”

The look that Malavai throws his way is nasty.

“I’ll be as boring as I want to be,” he snaps, “And it was _you_ that summoned whatever he is. I’m not completely convinced this isn’t some really good cosplayer you’ve paid to jump out of the bushes.”

Ven sighs, glances back to the demon, and can’t help but grin at him again.

He’s so _cool_.

** darkshadeless **

Yon is interrupted before he can try and properly enthrall his summoner, not that he has to work hard for it, fascination is doing half the job for him-

 _Oh_.

Surprise has the gossamer net of spellwork slip his hold and the witches ire does the rest. It snaps from his words, frigid and furious with a hollow core of unrealized fear, and Yon _shivers_.

As soon as he lays eyes on him, everything falls into place.

The shoddy circle, the strange summoning. That _he_ was called, of all the things that could have been… truly.

Not quite as tall as his companion, the witch makes up for it by holding himself so stifly Yon’s fingers twitch with the urge to massage it out of him. He can make him _melt_. He was literally born for the task.

It’s always the uptight ones that are the most rewarding. 

So tense, hands clenched at his side, and beneath how his hair has grown mussed there’s still a hint of someone who is used to not having a single one out of place. Where his… thrall? Servant? Friend? looks an excentric and exciting mess, the witch is put together almost too well, even with a streak of glitter on his cheek. In shirtsleeves, even to a ritual. The slim wireframe glasses complete the picture to perfection. He must unsettle the mortals he hides among by the league.

Finally Yon finds his footing. He’s not at his best today, is he?

Belatedly, he draws himself up a little, limbs loosening to give his summoner a better idea of what he has called up and what it could give him. The slow smile is instinctive, though the feeling behind it is genuine. Yon’s tongue darts out to wet his lips and the witches eyes are drawn to them immediately, though he tries to resist. The flush on the man’s cheek grows a touch more pronounced. How delicious.

Yon’s grin widens to unveil a flash of fangs.

It makes his host recoil but that too is part of the fun. “That’s not quite true, is it? _You_ are the one who wanted me. You should take responsibility.” 

** mercurypilgrim **

Malavai, frankly, is more than half convinced that his morning coffee had been spiked with something.

After all, why else would he be hallucinating that Ven’s ridiculous caper has actually _done something?_

Something like appear a mostly naked demon looking person that is looking like him in the way the lioness looked at the baby antelope on the documentary he and Ven had watched the night before.

He’s staring at him, and Malavai feels flayed by it.

Ven is beaming beside him, all wide eyes and wind tossed curls, as surprised as he is delighted.

Malavai is drawn back to the man (demon? Apparition? Booze induced hallucination?), as he smiles.

It’s a slow thing as his body language changes and his limbs turn loose and easy, his stance moving to something inviting and relaxed.

He’s got teeth like knives, and Malavai is struck by the thought that this must have been the most impressive cosplay he’s ever seen.

Only, well, it’s not.

Unless the way that flower crown is blooming slowly before his eyes is some kind of real-life CGI, this is real.

Something buzzes in his bones and he assumes it’s the anxiety again, but it’s hot and makes him flush with feeling.

He hopes he’s not about to drop dead, because Ven would be distraught.

“That’s not quite true, is it? _You_ are the one who wanted me. You should take responsibility.”

He blinks.

What.

That’s definitely not purred at Ven, who was absolutely the perpetrator of this mess, and many others.

No, he’s staring straight at Malavai, and there can be no doubt that he thinks Malavai had a hand in this.

Except… Malavai _had_ wanted it to work, in a strange way. Not that he thought it _would_ , magic wasn’t real, but he wanted it to. For Ven. He was so excited, so amused at the idea, it would have been nice if it was real, just to see him marvel at it.

He swallows, and the buzzing in his bones doesn’t go away. The icy hot feeling is very strange and he doesn’t know what it is, but it makes him almost lose his breath.

Ven is staring at him, baffled. He’s guileless, unlike Malavai, who can lie about the colour of grass with a straight face and have people believe him.

But this… man. Demon. Whatever.

“ _Excuse_ me?” Malavai throws back at him, not appreciating the hungry look. He was taken, thank you very much. “Take responsibility for what, a B&E charge? I don’t know who you are, but I suggest you explain yourself.”

There.

That voice didn’t come out much since he’d left the military, but it did come in useful sometimes.

** darkshadeless **

Oh my. Commanding.

He can work with that, though it does raise Yon’s hackles a little, to be spoken to like a servant. His smile slips, his eyes flash dangerously… but he reigns in his temper before it can do more than cool his expression.

The witch did not cage him. Foolish as that may have been, from Yon it buys some goodwill. And he did ask for clarification. Perhaps it will help to give him just that.

“As you wish.” Power thrums in the air, gently at first and growing heavier. In the stilted tones of formal intriduction, Yon continues, “You have called and I have deigned to accept your summons, witch, by the rules of hospitality and courtesy. The one who has come before you is called the Wrath by the powers that be, fifth of the Seven and second of the Thirteen, wandering Lord without court, born to the suit of Eternal Flame.”

Warmth rises from the ground as he speaks, setting the air to steaming. His own magic is heat and passion, what else could it be, and by the time he reaches the end of the shortened version of a formal introduction it has fairy lights dancing in the air around him.

Sweet things. They never do have any sense but Yon has a soft spot for them. That’s probably why they like him so well.

Yon waits a beat, for the proper answer, expectant. It is only polite.

**mercurypilgrim**

Okay, that was a lot to unpack.

The demon, because Malavai’s doubts had evaporated the moment he felt that… whatever it was in the air, didn’t look pleased at being snapped it.

Well then, perhaps he shouldn’t have been so _rude._

That was one hell of an introduction (he cringes at his unintentional pun), but even through the air turning hot enough to parch his throat and the twinkling little lights that seem to have a mind of their own as they dance around him, he can only focus on one thing.

“Oi!”

He blinks, surprised at the interruption.

Ven is standing next to him, pointing an accusing finger at the demon, his expression turned to a scowl where it had previously been a grin.

“Malavai can be a bit of a prick sometimes but there’s no reason to call him a _witch,_ Mr. Wrath, fifth of the Seven and second of the Thirteen, wandering Lord without court, born to the suit of Eternal Flame.” he recites it perfectly, only his tone is quite mocking. He’s annoyed now and stands at Malavai’s side, protective. Grey eyes are fiery, and it’s easy to forget that behind the laid-back, happy-go-lucky smiles is formidable steel.

He won’t forget that Ven just called him a bit of a prick, though.

He frowns, brushing his fingers against his fiance’s arm to quiet him for a moment.

“Wrath.” he tests the name on his tongue and it tastes like cinnamon and char. “I’m Dr. Malavai Quinn, and this is my fiance, Ven’fir Polaris.” he introduces, wary. “Did… did you just call me a _witch?_ ”

** darkshadeless **

Yon blinks at the finger in his face, perturbed.

What a pair. Rather daring. And of all things to get upset about _that_ part-

Wait.

His name, or rather one of his names, rolls of the witches tongue and Yon has to exert some willpower not to close his eyes to savor the lick of icy cool that brushes past him in the softest touch. Silk and peppermint. Understated but powerful. How lovely.

He does his own part of the introduction, although it’s off a hair in a direction it shouldn’t be and…

“Did… did you just call me a _witch?_ ” 

Yon grows still. It can’t be, can it? The last bit of alure deserts him, that survived even anger. “Yes? Naturally. I don’t understand,” he glances at Malavai’s companion, and it must be a companion rather than what else he could be, when he comes to defense so readily and his witch will call him his intended, “Did you summon me in a place we may not speak freely?”

That would be a rather lost cause, wouldn’t it? A demon summoning is a tad more attention-catching than a wrong word, usually.

But that doesn’t quite jive. 

Last Yon knew the witch hunts were over, for the most part. Mortals forgot them, as they tend to forget things as time passes, more and more. The ritual doesn’t have the marks of desperation, either, no, just… shoddy work. Excitement, fun hangs in the air and it is what attracted him, the sheer joy that was poured into the summons, happiness overflowing and cushioned in a frame of exasperated fondness.

He glances from defender to witch and back and tries _not_ to come to the conclusion he is coming to but-

Slowly, Yon puts a suspicion into words that makes dread well up inside him, “Where is your familiar?”

It should be here. A circle large enough to summon one of the major arcana is a Grand Work. A defender at Malavai’s side is only right but it should be someone else.

If there is, Yon can’t sense them and the defender he does have is… well. He is mortal. Brave but mortal.

** mercurypilgrim **

The shimmer around the demon seems to fizz and fade, and Malavai can see Ven blinking like he’s getting rid of brain fog.

The demon seems baffled.

Malavai is rather out of his depth, here.

“I didn’t summon you.” He says again, “Ven drew the circle and did the… the chanting and whatnot. We didn’t expect it to _work_.”

The demon’s next works jolt him into remembering that they are, in fact, simply in the back garden and not really as hidden as they probably should be. Malavai starts to fret, the familiar anxiety unfurling in his belly from where it had been hiding.

Inside is probably best.

“Where is your familiar?”

The tone is flat, like he’s dreading the answer. The smile is gone, and the demon is tentative, as though he doesn’t want to know but has to.

Malavai is what Ven calls ‘a huge nerd’ and he’s read enough fantasy books to know what a familiar is, sort of.

Teenage Malavai had been the kind of kid teenage Ven would have shoved into a rubbish bin or into a locker.

He gives an awkward shrug.

“I don’t have one?” He says, although it comes out more like a question. “Why would I? I don’t do… magic things.”

The ‘like summoning demons’, goes unsaid.

Ven stays close, and Malavai appreciates that. He’s a solid presence, and Malavai is always calmer when he’s there.

“Listen, we should go inside.” Ven says, seemingly reading his mind.

Oh god, what if mind readers _existed_? Malavai had a lot of thoughts he would rather not share with anyone. A lot of them involved Ven, and some were just breathtakingly offensive commentaries on people he didn’t like.

“I’ve done a cracking job on the fence, but if someone spots you through it, there’ll be questions and possibly some drooling.” Ven says dryly, and he seems to understand that their new demon guest is almost as confused as they are. “Inside the house, please. I think we all need some tea.”

Malavai squeezes his hand.

**darkshadeless**

The joke makes Yon smile fleetingly, despite what he has stumbled into. “I would hardly mind drooling, I could go for a snack.”

Adoration alone isn’t enough to keep him sated but it sure is a nice treat.

Speaking of treats, though. Yon follows… Ven’fir’s? jovial ushering, lets himself be bustled into a light and open kitchen area with a small table and enough seating for four, if only just. The witch, Malavai, busies himself with a teapot any cozy as if they are a vital mission. His hands are not quite steady.

Understandable, if… he did not expect this to work at all, did he?

** mercurypilgrim **

Malavai isn’t quite steady.

That buzzing rush that’s filling his bones with smooth, cool feelings of fluttery _something_.

That ‘snack’ comment was unnerving, so instead he got out some of the biscuits that he’d lied to Ven’fir about having not bought. 

He ignores the accusing, betrayed look Ven threw his way when he put the little plate of hobnobs on their kitchen table.

He sits, fussy and prim.

“Well,” he begins slowly, “You think I’m some kind of… witch?”

He watches the demon with fascination.

“I want to say that magic isn’t real, but I’m rather open to anything considering there’s a demon in my kitchen.” he says with a even tone, trying to keep his heartbeat calm. “I’m going to be very frank. I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m not a witch, I don’t have a familiar, I didn’t draw the stupid circle, and I can’t do magic.”

He says this in a rush, and then feels like he needs to do something to fill the sudden silence, so he takes the cozy off the teapot and starts to pour for them all. Ven’s hand is on his knee, warm and grounding.

**darkshadeless**

Nerves are pouring off Malavai as he speaks, acidic and jittery, like lightning. The tang is so very different from his magic, yet somehow they are still akin, one touching the other. Yon’s heart softens a little more. “I’m afraid I have some bad news for you on at least two of those fronts.”

Possibly a third but… in a different way. Because he _should_ have a familiar. He should have found a companion, a teacher, a friend, when he was a child, someone who would always take his side and never leave him.

Obviously he didn’t.

Or he lost them, too soon to even remember properly, and they became nothing but a memory of an imaginary friend. But there is little good to be found in dredging that up right now. Knowing _why_ and _how_ and _who_ will not better the situation, much as Yon would like to.

Mirroring his host’s manners Yon folds his hands on the table primly and curls his tail around a wrist. He glances at Ven’fir, steady as a rock even if his joy has sadly waned, and tries to gauge the best approach. “There is no denying that there is wild magic in your blood. I wouldn’t be here if there wasn’t. Whoever drew the circle, you brought it to life. Your will saw the work done.”

Here Yon has to smile a little bit. “Though I will confess the enthusiasm poured into the ritual was the deciding factor in attracting me.”

** mercurypilgrim **

Well, at least he wasn’t talking in riddles any more.

Malavai sighed, wrapping his hands around his teacup and leeching the warmth from it.

So, if the demon was telling the truth, and he wasn’t sure the man had any reason not to, Malavai was… weird.

What a surprise. Not.

Malavai had been weird his whole life, and it had usually brought him nothing but misfortune.

“I… I did want it to work. A bit.” he murmurs, glancing to Ven. His partner is looking at him with kind eyes, solid and affectionate. Ven has always been the confident one, brash and charismatic and smarter than a lot of people give him credit for. He’s the one who should have magic. Not boring, stuffy, an-old-man-by-thirty-eight Malavai. “I wanted it to work for you. You were having so much fun, I figured it might be nice if it did something, even though I didn’t think that it actually _would_.”

That last part made Ven’fir grin, and it stretches his face in a pleasant way.

“Hear that, babe?” he laughs, “Demon’s find my enthusiasm attractive.” he punctuates that with a wiggle of his eyebrows, and Malavai smiles. He’s doing it to cheer him up, to make him less tense, and it works.

Considering what he looks like, Ven’fir had a lot more than enthusiasm making people look his way, Malavai knows. He doesn’t mind. Ven loves him, and he knows it.

He glances at the demon over the rims of his glasses.

“Tell me everything.”


	2. The Build Up (Part 2)

**Find the original post[here](https://darkshadeless.tumblr.com/post/631722717311336448/honey-i-summoned-a-demon-ii). We also spotted a prompt list that was perfect for this AU, which we decided to use to do a little back and forth. You can find the post [here](https://mercurypilgrim.tumblr.com/post/635573208312119296/write-it-motherfuckers-one-liner-prompt-list-3).**

* * *

I wanted to continue but the other part seemed finished so…

Part 1 was a collaboration between me and @mercurypilgrim!

(If you want to tack something on here be my guest, or it can stand alone as a short story, idk XD )

* * *

Yon takes his time. He gives Malavai what he asks for in bits and pieces, bite-sized, just enough and not too much.

‘ _Tell me everything_ ’ he said and _everything_ is a lot indeed, even if you limit yourself to magic.

They speak until late at night that first evening, until Ven’fir has fallen asleep on his lover’s shoulder and is drooling into his shirt-collar. Malavai is red-eyed but determined and Yon sighs. ‘ _How about we continue tomorrow?_ ’ he says and he does feel a little like Scheherazade. ‘ _You will have to allow me to stay, though._ ’

Even drunk on exhaustion and knowledge, blinded by just a glimpse of what he has yet to unlock, Malavai’s eyes narrow faintly.

Yon smiles, careful not to flash his teeth too much.

The witches eyes slide to the glowing numbers on the microwave and his shoulders slump a little. ‘ _I suppose it is rather late_ ,” he mutters, ‘ _or rather early._ ’ Apprehension creeps onto his face and Yon sighs quietly.

He strengthens his alure a little, lets the edge of the sound carry it. It reaches Malavai in a gentle wave and makes him blink rapidly, as if his eyes are burning with lack of sleep. They droop regardless.

He’s so new to his power. It gives him an edge, especially when he is angry and alert, but like this?

Yon is no demon-child, fallen out of a random portal. He’s a Lord, fifth of the Seven, whom mortals warn each other off tangling with to this day, despite having forgotten the pertinent parts of that warning. They even wrote a book about the craftiness of Yon’s brethren and preach about it but wouldn’t know Wrath if he crossed them on the street. It’s all very droll.

But though Yon may only rate _fifth_ among those who have mastered the art of ensnaring others, that is more than enough to catch a hold of one untrained witch and press the need to sleep a little deeper into him, to soothe his rising disquiet and smoothe the frown carved into his brow. 

Malavai’s eyes slide shut, he barely catches himself on the table, steadying Ven who threatens to slide off his perch, and blinks himself back to wakefulness.

The glance he throws Yon is still uncertain but his exhaustion is undeniable. ‘ _Tomorrow?_ ’

‘ _Tomorrow_ ,’ Yon promises gently. ‘ _If you wish it, I will still be here._ ’

Malavai looks smaller, with his energy waning. His eyes are tired. Yon almost feels bad but only almost. ‘ _Tomorrow, then._ ’

* * *

In a way, Yon _is_ following in Scheherazade’s footsteps. She enthralled a wary king with suspense and mystery, for one thousand and one nights. The comparison is not so far fetched. It just starts to break down somewhere around the point where he should be getting something out of this deal.

It’s not even a proper _deal_.

He should make it one, demand more in return, or play coy. He could wrap Malavai around his little finger, never mind how carefully the witch treads.

He doesn’t much feel like it, though. Not like doing it like that, at any rate.

Malavai _should_ have had someone to walk him through what Yon gifts him and he is so delighted by it all. By magic. Like a man grown up to believe there are no wonders in the world, who, at being proven wrong, has his sense for it restored to him, despite having it thought lost forever long ago.

He does want to know _everything_. It’s quite endearing.

So Yon sighs at himself and, between Malavai’s questions and endless thirst for logic and _sense_ , why doesn’t it make _sense_ , there has to be a system, Ven! and Ven’fir’s enthusiasm despite his own lack of innate magical talent, he lets himself be ensnared.

‘ _Just one more night_ ,’ Yon thinks to himself every evening. ‘ _One more night and I’ll go back._ ’


	3. Prompt 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You can’t just leave a perfectly good coffin lying around, and expect me not to take advantage of it.”

In hindsight, it had been a bit too convenient to be true.

Yon still had to unearth a six foot deep hole but alas, grave-digging is what it is. At least he had all the accessories in order. Why Ven’fir had thoughtfully left a coffin lying around in the living room was anyone’s guess, what counted was that it was _there_ when Pricilla and her abominably smug Siamese weaselled their way into Malavai’s afternoon tea.

Never let it be said Yon isn’t true to his word.

‘Try and ruin my witch’s attempt to make connections (read: friends) and I will bury you,’ was not an idle threat. It was simple and to the point. You’d think the message would get across.

Perhaps he shouldn’t have delivered it in his second skin. It feels so _right_ , he keeps forgetting to turn back. Humans have such strange reactions to all things feline, though. They coo at him. He is a creature born of fire and fury and they coo at him when he looks like a cat. You’d think at least witches would have more sense than to try and play patty-cake with his paws.

They also give him belly rubs, which goes a ways toward endearing Yon to the condition.

Having accidentally bound himself to Malavai as his familiar has its upsides. Belly rubs are definitely one of them. It’s a bit of work but it is _so_ rewarding.

Speaking of work.

Muffled screaming echoes from within the hole he has dumped his prize into. It is perfectly rectangular. Perfectly. Yon is nothing if not precise. The coffin is even a glossy, shiny black, very nice. Wasted on the contents but what can you do.

“Oh, shut up, you cow. Don’t think I didn’t hear you talk smack about the cake.” He almost set her hair on fire then and there. Maybe he should have.

It was a beautiful cake. Malavai had bought it special, from the corner store that charges an arm and a leg, and carried it home with the fretful attention of a man who is convinced his entire social future for the next few centuries of his suddenly extended life expectancy depends on caramel hearts and perfectly piped frosting.

It may well at that. Witches can be a catty bunch.

Which only makes it more important that Yon, as Malavai’s familiar, lay down a few laws. Nobody messes with his witch.

The muffled shrieks grow higher in pitch.

Really. You’d think this would _kill_ her, with the racket Pricilla is making. She’ll be right as rain just as soon as she has dug herself back out. Might take a while though.

He’s about to dump the first shovelful of dirt into his ready-made grave when gravel crunches behind him. “Yon have you seen my new coffee table-”

Ah. So that’s what it was. There is a pause in which Yon decidedly does not turn around to look at Ven’fir and whatever he may be thinking about the scene he has stumbled upon in their backyard. But really, “You can’t just leave a perfectly good coffin lying around, and expect me _not_ to take advantage of it.”

* * *

Yon is a decent stretch into filling the hole when he realizes he has an audience. That’s the trouble with doing your manual labor by hand, although it breeds such a bone deep satisfaction, the kind that only comes with exertion.

Becoming a familiar has limited him. Among other things he is no longer free to practice his own powers as he likes. It stings.

Yon _could_ toe the line but poor Malavai is having a hard enough time with the local coven. No need to add to that. He is more than capable enough to take on the likes of Pricilla without lighting a fire under their asses.

But it seems his activities haven’t escaped _all_ attention. Yon pauses in his shovelling but doesn’t look up from his work.

“I know you’re there. Show yourself.”

The air shivers. Wind rustles through dying leaves that were glossy with health only an hour ago.

Malavai will be so upset with the state of their roses. What a mess. That’s the risk, though, in throwing a tea party for a whole gaggle of witches. No one will get smashed and barf onto the herb garden but there is _this_ to consider.

One by one delicate tentacles feel their way to the top of the fake gravestone Ven'fir has donated to Yon’s cause. It is slowly turning to real granite as the ambient magic of his actions takes its toll.

Intent is a powerful thing.

The little squid that climbs into view is dwarved by its perch. It’s Talos familiar, unless Yon is missing his mark. (He isn’t.)

Yare is the name Talos introduced it by. Quiet little thing. If Yon didn’t know better he would think it’s harmless but he _does_ know better.

They muster each other. 

“You gonna rat me out, fish?” Yon has chosen to don his glamor today, so the neighbours at least won’t see a _demon_ digging graves in the backyard next door, if their curiosity makes it past Malavai’s wards. It probably won’t but it makes his witch feel better when Yon limits himself to human appearance in public.

The smile he flashes their guest makes no pretence at being anything so innocent. He can _feel_ it stretch, farther than it should. His eyes glow with inner fire. The small squid squirms a little and curls its little tentacles under itself. After a moment’s hesitation it grasps for the lip of the stone and pulls itself forward to gaze into the grave with soulful eyes.

Their little standoff is not helped by Pricilla’s hoarse shrieks. Really. You’d think she would run out of air at some point. Or at least figure out that she should start getting her own ass out of trouble. Nobody’s going to hear her if Yon doesn’t will it.

After a long moment a whisper creeps up Yon’s spine. It flutters past his ears and straight into his head without consulting his eardrums. Among the hissing echo of crinkling paper and children’s rhymes shot through with madness, Yare mutters almost sweetly, ‘ _Could we make Nancy fit, too? She’s in the gazebo._ ’

Wasn’t the gazebo supposed to be off-limits?

Yon leans back enough to take a look. The gazebo shines a pristine, cheerful white in the afternoon sun. From this angle, though, you can see the back of it, where someone’s foot is hanging off the porch listlessly. He can see blackened veins stand out against parchment-yellow skin from _here_.

Huh. Looks like he’s not the only one with a grudge.

Yon blinks, slowly, in lieu of smiling a real smile, the way he has gotten into the habit of since he first woke up with fur and a tail. The physical has a way of rubbing off on you. He glances down at the partly buried coffin sceptically. “We can try but you tell me. I hear you’re handy with geometry.”

* * *

Their host is nervous. He hides it well. His lapels are pressed to perfection, as is everything about him, but when he thinks no one is looking his hands shake.

Talos takes a delicate sip of tea, lets the chattering of his brothers and sisters wash over him and does what he does best. He watches. Malavai, in this case. Their newest addition and what an explosive entrance he has made. It’s not every day that a witch awakes to their power so late, or entices a companion of the calibre to their side as he has.

The stronger the familiar, the stronger the witch, so they say.

And he hasn’t even bound him, not in truth. No, Malavai’s Yon was chained by nothing but his own will and his own choices, if what Malavai told the elders was true. Fascinating.

Most witches that do reach for an Outsider as their familiar do not only reject the companion they should have had, a choice that is so anathema it makes most of his kind shudder at the thought, they also end up with a grudging servant, not a companion, or worse a master looking for a slave. But rarely, _rarely_ …

A slight pull on his impeccable tweed suit alerts him to the return of his own friend and partner. Yare climbs up to his shoulder clumsily to take a rest there, huffing as if he was a being that needs air to survive. Such theatrics.

Talos reaches up and cups his soft form gently. “There you are.”

Rarely a witch will be meant for the likes that have chosen them, him and Malavai both. It is a lonely existence, at first. Talos remembers it well, never fitting in anywhere, never being quite right. Even among witches they stand out. Malavai already feels it. They are special. That comes with a price.

While he is contemplating that, Yon steals into the room, a shadow among shadows, deeper and darker than the rest. He is not quite as good at pretending to be a mere animal as other familiars are but that is hardly surprising.

Malavai’s shoulders loosen before he sees him and Talos wonders if he yet knows why. If he can feel their bond, consciously. It will come. There will be a time where they will know each other as few others will ever be able to. People like them, they are set apart by their nature but they too are not alone. Never that. While their familiar lives, no witch ever is.

Yon jumps up onto the cushions of the couch next to his master who reaches for him immediately to run his fingers through his fur. The tremors have stilled. When Malavai draws Yon into his lap, his hands are steady.

His content lasts until he realizes his partner has left a smudge on his trousers. Talos hides a smile as his hiss reaches his ears. “Did you track dirt into the house again?”

He rubs his fingers over his own companion’s limbs and comes away with a few crumbs of earth. When he rubs them to dust between his fingers they break apart with a whisper of cool air, heavy and wet.

Malavai is young. He doesn’t have much experience yet, for all he seems to be devouring knowledge. But Talos, Talos more than has the mileage to recognize grave dirt.

His smile turns a little sharper. “I see you have been busy. This wouldn’t have anything to do with how I haven’t seen Nancy in an hour, would it?” Not since she made fun of his shirt behind his back as a vehicle to discredit his latest research. She really should know better by now.

Yare curls into a sphere more firmly and radiates contented malice. ‘ _No_ ,’ echoes through Talos’ mind, whisper-soft.

Little liar. It is good to see him making a friend. Perhaps Talos will too, witches and their familiars do tend to be well matched in temperament.

It would be nice, to have someone to talk to who isn’t also privy to his thoughts.


	4. Prompt 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I regret to inform you, that, for once, I had nothing to do with this.”

Ven'fir folds his arms.

Yon looks at him.

Ven’fir looks right back.

Malavai glares at them _both_.

Yon might be a (sometimes literally) smoking hot demon lord, but Ven works in _fashion_. He knows no fear, and not even Yon’s glare will break him. If he can work his own brand of magic with only his trusty kit and a grim faced model while the designers are shrieking backstage, he can handle a gimlet eyed stare from a demon.

There’s something buzzing behind his left eye and it feels sort of like magic but he’s not entirely sure why it would be behind his eye, of all places.

Yon seems frustrated, and mutters something in a lyrical, harsh sounding language Ven’fir assumes is ‘Hellspeak’ or something equally D&D sounding. Whatever it is, it sounds rude.

“Stop trying to whammy me.” Ven warns him, realising what the funny tickle is. “Malavai says I don’t have a brain to whammy, which is why it doesn’t work.”

It’s more like he can’t concentrate on a command long enough for it to actually sink in, or so Ven thinks. Whatever the reason, it annoys Yon and that makes it so, _so_ worth it.

Malavai, bless him, is fuming and Ven knows that it’s best not to voice how much he likes it when his cheeks flush pink and his eyes narrow. Malavai has the kind of anger than would make snow shiver and a glare that could put dragons to shame when he’s annoyed enough to deploy it.

Vera The Curtain Twitcher, as Ven’fir calls her in his head, is unconscious between the three of them, sprawled out on the kitchen tiles like a particularly unpleasant rug.

The ferret that is her familiar is squeaking at them, and it dug it’s little teeth into Ven’fir’s leg earlier before he launched it towards the dishwasher.

“What,” Malavai begins with devastating civility, “Happened?”

Yon gives Ven the stink eye, although it looks like he’s having to suppress a smile.

“I regret to inform you, that, for once, I had nothing to do with this.” He says to Malavai, all smooth and slick. He nudges Vera with a toe and the ferret chatters at him. Yon glances at it and it backs away, fur on end.

Neat trick.

Malavai turns his frosty look on Ven, who plasters on a grin.

“So, funny story-“ he begins, and Malavai’s expression crumples into exasperation.

“ _Ven,_ ” he admonishes, and Malavai is the only person in the world that can get away with telling Ven off in any capacity whatsoever. “At this rate we’re not going to have any neighbours _left_. I’m trying not to get kicked out of the coven in my first _week_.”

He’s stressed, and it shows. His collar is very slightly crooked and he’s got dark circles under his eyes, half hidden by his glasses.

Ven musters his puppy eyes.

“Babe, she was trying to _whammy_ me.”

Malavai blinks, and Yon raises an eyebrow with the poise of a silver screen belle.

“She was?”

Ven nods, folding his arms.

“She knocked on the door and when I invited her in for tea and a biscuit, she chanted something and tried to whammy me.” He said, a little miffed at this. How rude.

“Stop calling it that.” Malavai requests tiredly, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “So, she tried to listen to your thoughts?”

“Did she hear the sea?” Yon asks snidely, and Ven glares at him. Yon might be three feet nothing of hotness and hotness, but Ven doesn’t take that lying down.

“I dunno what it was,” he admitted, “But it was one of those mind trick whatsits. I can feel it, like my brain is itchy.”

Malavai glances down at Vera, crumpled on the floor. There’s blood seeping from a wound on her head. The ferret is keeping away from Yon, and Ven decides that it’s a smart move. The demon is looking like he’d like to see what it tastes like with barbeque sauce.

“What did you do?” Malavai asks, suspicious even as he inspects the body with an air of a vaguely disinterested forensic technician.

Ven grins, mean.

“I punched her in the face.”

Malavai looks up at him, startled.

“You- you _did?_ ”

Yon’s other eyebrow joins the first near his hairline.

“A witch was casting spells on you so you punched her in the face?” he asks, tone flat.

Ven nods.

Finally, they’re getting it.

“Yeah. Broke her nose, I think.”

Malavai stares at Vera, who has been the bane of their public life since they moved into the cul-de-sac. She was always watching, always gossiping. They had been surprised that she had been a witch, although it now made sense where she got her gossip from if she was invading minds.

He tilts his head, and Ven has always found that habit to be endearing.

“Yon,” Malavai begins, hesitant. “How much space is there in that plot at the end of the garden?”


	5. Tomorrow (Interlude)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just one more night (I’ll leave by morning light)

Just one more night. Just one more piece of knowledge to share. Just one more time watching Malavai’s eyes light up when a new spell works for him when before it didn’t.

He just has to get back at Ven’fir’s last joke, just the one. Then he’ll be done. Then it will be enough. He can’t leave just yet. He can stay with them a little longer. Where’s the harm?

These are the things Yon tells himself and time, well time has never had much meaning to him. It can’t lose things it didn’t possess. But he should have known better.

He stays, he stays, he stays and night by night Malavai does not send him away. Night by night, day by day, they share their lessons, Yon his knowledge and Malavai his thoughts, until Ven’fir crashes their session and insists they have dinner, or a snack, a movie-break, something to break up the hard work of trying to learn centuries’ worth of magic and more.

Yon has learned new things too. He now knows what a ‘nerd’ is. Ven’fir was very helpful in explaining, right up until Yon set his shoe laces on fire.

He deserved it. How dare he. Yon is a glittering terror, a menace made manifest, he will not be _teased_ by a mortal. (Much.)

Malavai grows in leaps and bounds. Already, his garden responds to him in subtle ways, flowers turning to him as if he were the sun when he passes. He’s _radiant_. Already, he is so much more powerful… and Yon hasn’t even given him a price to pay.

But is it such a terrible burden to spend his days in lazy joy, watching the witch explore, watch his magic expand as he flexes it like a new muscle?

He should take something in return, something more. Sparks of his own power tingle in the very marrow of his bones when he is reminded that he isn’t. It’s not in his nature, to give freely. Demons trade. It is their way.

But isn’t he taking something? Time, comfort, pleasure? Isn’t he making himself at home in Malavai’s domain, waited on, as long as he just helps with the dishes?

That’s how Yon tries to keep the burn at bay though he knows well he is lying to himself. It’s not the same. There’s no agreement, no contract. What they trade, they trade wilfully, without bounds.

It feels dangerous, when he thinks on it. One such as himself rarely has cause to fear anything, or anyone, but when Yon allows himself to contemplate the nature of their arrangement… the faintest hint of fear creeps up on him.

He dismisses it, at first. It feels ridiculous, to be bothered by such a little thing. When it persists it unsettles him but in the end there is no danger here, is there?

What a fool he is. He didn’t think. No, Yon doesn’t stop to _think_ until it is too late.

* * *

Malavai is in a good mood today and his happiness is infective. Yon isn’t the only one who basks in it. The witch’s joy floats upon the lazy breeze, already cooling with the first hints of autumn and decay, and out into the night. The tender beginnings of their herb garden are rustling in response.

Yon leans forward onto the table and hides a smile in his crossed arms. He’s human, again, because Malavai asked him to mask himself for their shopping trip earlier and he has, quite frankly, forgotten to turn back. It’s not so bad, especially when it helps his witch relax enough to bicker with Ven over their dinner without a care. Malavai does not yet trust his wards to withhold the truth from his nosy neighbours.

He will learn. Until then, Yon does not mind putting him at ease. Neither Malavai nor Ven’fir wish him to be what he isn’t.

“Ven! Keep your fingers out of the sauce! You’re getting it everywhere!” Malavai slaps at Ven’fir’s thieving hands but even in his ire his eyes shine, hallowed by happiness and magic. He is beautiful. Yon isn’t the only one who thinks so, it seems. His witch’s fiancée, that ridiculous human that has conquered his own place in Yon’s heart with his stubborn, overbearing nature can’t seem to take his eyes off him, even as he is threatened with bodily harm.

Yon laughs quietly. “You should listen to him. You know what happened last time.”

 _That_ finally breaks them up, both grimacing if in different ways. Ven’fir’s expression is an exaggerated pout, where Malavai looks a touch contrite. A _touch_. “You better not turn me into a frog again, Mal! I wasn’t even doing anything!”

“You were stealing my macarons,” Malavai mutters under his breath, even as his cheeks color with embarrassment. “They were for the bake sale, Ven!”

“You don’t even like the bake sale!”

Malavai opens and closes his mouth helplessly, searching for a way to refute that. There’s not really much he can say, though. Even Yon has cottoned on to how he only attends that saccharine gathering out of peer-pressure.

Or perhaps out of a desire to fit in.

Softening at that thought, Yon taps his fingers on the counter. “Your sauce is going to burn.”

The reaction is immediate. Horror spills over Malavai’s face. He turns so fast he very nearly clips Ven’fir in the eye with the spoon he was threatening him with, argument forgotten. So abandoned by his lover, Ven throws himself down on the chair next to their perpetual house guest with a huff. “Don’t think I didn’t see what you just did.”

Mirth tugs on Yon’s lips. His grin is just wide enough for a flash of sharp, sharp teeth. “And what did I do?”

“You took his side,” Ven’fir’s pout is audible. “Why don’t you ever take mine?”

There’s a thread of real hurt hidden in the exaggerated drama, that makes Yon pause. He pushes himself up on his elbows to muster his friend.

A friend. Here is a mortal he would call a friend. How has that happened?

The pause in their conversation stretches, when Yon does not let the question go and answer in kind. Malavai, fussing over dinner, has not yet caught on. That’s just as well. Slowly, Yon leans over, presses his shoulder against Ven’fir’s in a line of warmth. He is so tactile, so direct, yet he manages to hide his insecurities too well at times.

“You are on the same side, Ven.” Yon finds himself saying, under his breath, and watches Ven’fir’s face fall a little. That was not what he wanted to hear. Yon will not lie, though. He can’t say whether he would side against Malavai, if it became necessary in truth, in a way that mattered. Something about the witch compels him, draws him in. But… he leans in a little harder. “I enjoy your company too, you _are_ aware of that, yes?”

It feels like such a little thing to promise, in that moment. That should have given him pause. Many, many things should have but they didn’t.

No demon lord gives their word idly. So why was it so easy, to say this? Why didn’t he even think twice? But Yon didn’t hesitate, not in the face of how his words, a little too serious for their joyful evening perhaps, make Ven perk up. A huge, goofy grin spreads across his youthful face. Yon has but a moment to brace himself before Ven’fir snakes an arm around him and plants a sloppy kiss on his cheek.

He allows the exuberance with a sigh. “Dork.”

“Me? What about _you_? You’re the one going all sappy on me. Are you sick? Do demons catch the flu?” But there is nothing but laughter in his voice now, shadows chased away. Yon lets the golden feeling of this moment settle into his being and take root. If he could, he would stay here forever.

A prickle of _danger_ washes over his senses, so faint it drowns in the glow.

* * *

Once left mostly to his own devices, Malavai cooks up a storm. His dishes are always a treat but tonight he has outdone himself. Appetizers, pasta, even dessert and wine paired to all of it. It’s a lovely evening, made even more so by the moonlight painting the world outside in shades of silver.

Yon savors a spoonful of tiramisu and hums in pleasure. “You spoil us.”

When he glances at Malavai from under his lashes, the witch is blushing scarlet. It’s a good look on him. “I wanted to do something special for the occasion.”

“Oh?” Yon chances a glance at Ven’fir but Ven doesn’t look like he got the memo either, no use trying to grab pointers.

Perhaps he wasn’t as subtle as he thought, seeing as Malavai’s blush deepens. He ducks his head, avoiding their eyes. Then he steels himself and when he looks up, he is every inch the witch Yon knows he can be. Will be. He will be breath-taking.

He already is.

The look in Malavai’s eyes spells him to the spot so thoroughly his mind catches up with what he is saying with an embarrassing delay. “It… well. It has been three months now, that you have been with us and,” he pauses, looks a little like he wants to swallow, and glances at Ven’fir. Ven gives him an encouraging grin and a thumbs up. The dork.

A small smile tugs at Malavai’s lips. “Ven and I talked.”

Yon slowly lets his spoon sink. His skin is tingling. He flexes his hand absently, to chase the feeling away, but it stays. “Did you now. About what?”

“You. Us. Our… arrangement.” Malavai paraphrases, delicately. He fidgets with his sleeves a little before taking a breath and reaching into his pocket. What he draws out is a key.

Nothing special, just one of the plain, flat steel keys people of this time favour. There is a charm attached to it, woven with such care Yon can see the threads of it entwined with the physical. “This, it’s not temporary, for… for us, for me. And I don’t want to live in limbo. I- We- I. I want you to stay but not as a guest. Just… stay.” His voice breaks a little on the last word. Ven’fir reaches across the table and winds their fingers together in a show of reassurance but remains silent. It really strikes Yon then, that they planned this. “Will you?”

The question echoes through his mind strangely. It tickles. Yon flexes his fingers again and comes up blank. There really is only one answer he wants to give, isn’t there? He likes it here. He likes being here, with them. This doesn’t change anything, does it? It makes their arrangement a bit more… real. Isn’t that what he wanted?

Slowly, as if he is caught in a dream not quite under his control, Yon reaches out and touches the key, the charm. A simple thing, infused with little more than a desire for protection. Do-not-lose-me it spells into the aether. As if a demon ever lost anything they didn’t care to lose. But the thought, the desire behind it, warms him.

“Of course.”

The words fall from his lips with barely a thought but they are no less sincere for it.

The smile that lights Malavai’s face is blinding. He lets his hair down so rarely that it’s stunning to see him so carefree, so _happy_. Yon is sucked in, all of his attention stolen and concentrated on this very moment. The rest of the world washes out to shades of grey.

Malavai’s eyes are so very, very blue. They dance with magic.

 _Danger_ , Yon’s senses breathe but it is so faint he can barely make it out. And then Malavai’s smile starts to slip. Concern creeps in, he says something but Yon… can’t quite catch it. Humming fills his ears, slowly growing louder and louder until his teeth ache with it. The itch in his skin grows unbearable.

What- what is happening?

He draws his hand back, leaves the key on the table but it is as if he has to fight against a current just to move. He _aches_. Everything hurts and nothing fits, his bones feel ready to burst out of his body, constricted, tight. He can’t breathe.

Terror blooms on Malavai’s face. It’s the last thing Yon sees before he fold in on himself. He falls off the chair. He doesn’t even feel the impact, he just knows that he falls and he knows he landed but all of that feels abstract. His muscles are twitching uncontrollably.

Someone rushes around the corner of the table, comes down next to him on their knees- Ven, it’s Ven and then Malavai is there too, touching him. It takes some of the biting edge of pain away. Yon leans into his hands, reeling.

“- need to call an ambulance-“

“We can’t call an ambulance! He’s a demon!”

“Then what the fuck are we supposed to do!”

The world goes dark.

* * *

Yon comes to gradually.

 _Ba-dum_.

Everything hurts. He feels as if he has gone head to head with Calamity and lost. Or maybe like he has gone on a bender. Did he drink last night? By the tears of the prophet, if he did, did he get the last dregs they scraped out of a barrel of distilled faerie dust? Ugh. His tongue is twice the size it should be.

Yon stretches, carefully. His back cracks in five places.

At least he’s warm.

 _Ba-dum_.

The surface he is lying on expands and contracts like a living thing.

 _Ba-dum_.

… because it is a living thing.

Yon freezes mid-stretch and waits for the next heartbeat.

 _Ba-dum_.

Slowly, very slowly he eases his eyes open. It takes him a moment to recognize Malavai’s living room for what it is. Papers and books are strewn all over the coffee table, that looks like it has collapsed under the weight. Half of its contents spill onto the floor, priceless tomes and notes in Malavai’s own precise handwriting both. Ven’fir has fallen asleep on the part that hasn’t broken down quite yet. His every breath rattles the remaining balance precariously.

But the fact that their home looks like an academic bomb has gone off in it isn’t what makes it so difficult to identify.

No. The angles are all wrong. Everything is… bigger. Yon twitches, unsettled and the breath under his body stutters to a halt. It resumes quicker than before. “Yon?”

The sound of his name rumbles through him on more levels than the physical. Finally, he looks _up_. He looks up, as huge hands rearrange him carefully, as if their owner is terrified of even touching him, and what happened starts to sink in with the swooping sensation of a fall. Usually, Yon likes falling. He can fly. There is nothing to fear.

He… he doesn’t like this.

Malavai’s face comes into view, haggard and over-tired. Worry has carved deep lines into him that only appear when he is at the end of his rope. “Yon?” he says, again, and his voice shakes.

His distress presses down on Yon as if it were his own. Without a second thought he answers, or tries to. The sound he actually makes when he tries to speak is this, “Mrrow.”

Malavai’s expression crumbles with guilt. “I’m so sorry. I’ll fix it! I swear, I’ll fix it. I don’t know what went wrong but I’ll fix it. I didn’t mean to, you have to believe me.“

He keeps babbling, stress and emotion pressed into words that can’t elevate the pressure inside him. Yon presses close, a shiver running through his diminished form. ‘ _It’s not your fault_ ,’ he wants to say but can’t. ‘ _I’m the one who fucked up. I’m the one who should have known- I shouldn’t have said yes. Why did I say **yes**?_’

Malavai curls up around him, bowed by misery and gutted by the stuttering purr rumbling through Yon’s chest. He’s petting him with shaking hands, drawn to touch despite his doubt, as if letting go of Yon is the most painful thing he can think of, as if losing him would be the next best thing to losing a piece of himself and Yon _knows_.

He knows what they did and Malavai can’t fix it. Nobody can.

_Return by stroke of midnight. Until the first full moon. A year and a day and then I’ll take your child away. Stay, stay with me. Forever._

Timing is such a crucial thing to magic. They must have hit it just right. The bond they have forged isn’t made to be broken. Few things can come between a witch and their familiar and all of them are painful.

He should have known. He should have gone back while he had the chance, before his idleness cast their connection to crystal threads just waiting to be filled with purpose.

Even faced with the consequences of his actions, something inside Yon rebels at the thought alone.

No, he wants to stay. He _has to stay_. He-

Krait-spit. He is in so much trouble.


	6. Prompt 3 - Wicked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I can say with utmost certainty, that you are indeed, A Bitch.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one has mood music ;) Monster remixed by Aruvn  
> Yon is such a bloody tsundere I swear.

It’s less of a meeting hall than an oversized cat café. The furniture is a cross between jungle gym and a harem’s pillow-strewn extravagance. There are almost no chairs but other perches have been installed with care. For someone used to human furniture the result looks strange at first. People sized, too big for animals, as if the world has shrunk.

Yon will give the architect points for style. Despite the colourful chaos they have retained an organic feeling, beauty. The windows that buzz with warding magic are framed with stained glass, the sunlight they filter glances off colourful pearl strings and dreamcatchers. A faint smell of sweet herbs hangs in the air.

He’d find it comfortable, even nice, he thinks, if it weren’t for the company. From the throw rugs on the floor to the large branches affixed just below the ceiling the room is packed.

Yon slouches in his seat, a picture of indolence despite the knot of tension in his gut. The bond between him and Malavai is stretched out, thinned a little with distance and he doesn’t like it. It’s so new. He wants to be _there_. He wants Malavai to be _here_. He certainly doesn’t care to be trapped in the dullest sorority meeting he has ever encountered while his witch weathers his fellows on his own.

‘No familiars allowed,’ what a joke. What could they possibly discuss that is not for his ears? Mortals, children, one and all, playing at magic. If Yon put his mind to it he could evade their protections without breaking a sweat and get his way regardless of what they want. No one even has to know.

There are only two things keeping him in place, one being that he _does_ need to know what happens here. What his fellow familiars discuss is limited to their own as well. If Yon does not keep an eye out for his witch‘s interests in this meeting, no one will.

And how it galls to have to consider himself in one and the same category as his current companions. He might be a Malavai’s familiar now but he is also so much _more_. But here he is, at the bloody kids’ table.

They have all shed their animal forms for the time being. Soon as the faint magic of a curtain of privacy had fallen over the door, the assembly of the animal kingdom that had come together in this place had stretched to a simile of humanity. It neatly explains the way the furniture has been arranged.

As Yon has had cause to experience, one does not shed the form one spends most of their waking hours in so easily. Around the room habits and hints remain betraying what they truly are. Cat eyes flash in a black girl’s face as she turns to glance his way. Above his head a rail-thin boy in punk get-up has perched himself on a shelf like the bird whose feathers he has shed.

Yon probes his teeth with his tongue. Sharper than they should be but not quite in the way his true form would make them.

Valiantly he fights the boredom weighing his limbs down. By the seven rings, are they about done?

It doesn’t look like it. The blonde that has taken the lead, hair and skin too pale to be quite natural, segues into the next topic with a benevolent smile at her audience. It makes Yon feel like he’s about to hack up a hairball.

Yes, that was a fun new activity he wishes he didn’t have experience in now.

“And, since we have newcomers, I think it would be best to give our younger members the chance to brush up on the basics.” She looks over the crowd, her voice sweet, kind and just the faintest hint disappointed. If her attention stays on him a bit longer than anyone else surely that is a coincidence, seeing as Yon is _the only new guy_ at his last count. ‘Newcomers’ is it. “Perhaps we’ll start the lecture circuit with etiquette, as I can say with utmost certainty that it is needed, if we consider recent events.”

Fire sparks in Yon’s lungs. He breathes through the burn like the grown ass adult he is. Malavai has asked him to behave, after all. “And I can say with utmost certainty, that you are indeed a bitch.” His mutter doesn’t carry. At least not far. Behind him the punk bird chokes on thin air and folds over in silent laughter so precariously he should have fallen off his perch.

A flare of amusement presses itself into Yon’s mind.

He glances at the man that has made himself at home on the settee next to him nonchalantly.

Yare needs almost the whole sofa, in his human form. It is easily two heads taller than Yon’s own and built like a Shruvian monolith. Tall, dark and silent. If it weren’t for the gossamer touch of his bubbling mirth Yon would take the front at face value. Going by other familiars’ reactions to Yare, they do.

Yare meets his predator’s stare with a mild one of his own. As he turns, his dark eyes reflect the light and his pupils turn a milky green for a heartbeat or two. Yon can’t help the smirk that tugs at his lips. He does like a challenge.

Maybe being here is not a _complete_ waste of time. Not that looking out for Malavai is the least of his reasons. You _can_ drown in the kiddie pool, after all. All it takes is carelessness.

The amusement whispering over his thought spikes into delight. Yare bites his lip to smother a smile.

So that’s how it is. “Get out of my head, squid,” Yon finds himself grousing, even as he files that new impression of his powers away with thoughtful interest.

‘ _But it’s so interesting here_ ,’ brushes over his mind, couched in a feeling of wet feelers dragging over church bells waiting to strike midnight.

“Tch.” Yon turns away from him with a huff, infusing it with sparks that prickle over Yare’s mental touch. He retreats quickly, echoing with laughter that promises no contrition, only return.

Well, their little game is amusing at least, as they dance around each other and trying to get a feeling for who and what they are dealing with and he will stay anyway. Might as well pass the time.

* * *

After a few more snore-inducing topics their meeting starts to wind down into what Yon can already say will be a round of _socialising_ , the horror. He is trying to come up with a way to wiggle out of that under Yare’s mirthful eyes when his salvation arrives.

Footsteps, muffled by the privacy ward, prick his ears. A moment later a soft chime sounds, alerting them to a visitor. The witch comes through after a polite pause.

From one moment to the next Yon finds himself alone in a room full of animals.

What.

The witch, lanky with youth and obviously in a rebellious phase the way teenagers go judging by the piercings, looks around until her eyes fall on him. She freezes. He freezes. The chittering of rodents and birds falls to horrified silence.

Amanda, her name was Amanda, right?, slaps a hand over her mouth but it does a poor job at hiding her delight and healthy dose of true shock at whatever scandal has just occurred and in that moment Yon knows exactly who belongs to this one. Whom she belongs to. They must get along like a house on fire.

And indeed, just as he thinks that with the intuition granted by pure magic, a bird streaks past him from above his head to land on her shoulder, tweeting happily. A great tit, is he. The puns make themselves.

Murderous menaces and sharp as a tack. Yon will keep that in mind.

Amanda swallows her laughter, if not quite the unholy glee on her face. “You know you’re supposed to turn back when someone’s coming, right?”

“Am I,” Yon drawls and doesn’t move a muscle to do that.

“Yeah, you shouldn’t be human. Or talk to me. Or anyone.” Her grin grows wider, edged in anarchy and wonder. “You don’t give a shit, do you? Oh, this is gonna be so great.”

This one just wants to see the world burn, doesn’t she. Yon can admire that impulse. “Really? I am what, supposed to stay an animal where anyone will see, including witches?”

“Yep,” Amanda pops the p with gusto, as if she doesn’t have a room full of possibly scandalized familiars watching this exchange. “Anything else is kinda… well, it’s a bit like flashing your bits.”

Is it now. On the sofa, Yare is curling his tentacles in on himself so tightly Yon is half-sure he will roll off at any moment. If he were still human he would be smothering himself with the pillow to stop laughing.

‘ _You could have said something, you know_ ,’ Yon shoots his way. There is a certain fondness to the thought. He sinks into his seat a little more, loose-limbed and beautiful, and can practically feel the mental screech of a dozen and more familiars shocked to stillness. It is a _treat_. “I assure you,” Yon might not be Lust but he is an incubus. His voice slides into a smoky purr coasting on the same gently sadistic delight Amanda is glowing with as easily as breathing, “I have much more to offer than this.”

Her laughter is what finally breaks the standoff. Bright, sweet, it carries the hints of innocence a teen her age would deny to their dying day. Around Yon the familiars in attendance start to chatter at one another in furious, indecipherable sounds. None of them is brave enough to, or perhaps knows _how to_ , try and put him in his place in front of a witch.

She’s still laughing when Malavai hurries into the room, radiating stress. Just to be a contrary little shit this is the moment Yon does deign to turn back.

He bounds off his perch to twine between his witch’s legs in feline affection. Malavai doesn’t hesitate to stoop to snatch him off the floor. The unhesitating ease with which he brings Yon up to holds him close has him stretching to rub his head under Malavai’s chin. “There you are.”

Relief swings under the words, as if his witch has missed Yon as much as he him. That… their whole situation is still something he is coming to terms with but that is something. It is certainly something.

Amanda’s joy, when he twists to look at her, has turned softer. She doesn’t comment. No, she just glances at Malavai, a smile still playing over her lips, and when she brushes past to leave she doesn’t do it at the distance she could have. There’s enough space. No reason to bump upon Malavai’s shoulder, the way she does. “Welcome to the coven.”

It’s a little graceless, too direct, but that only polishes how much she means it. It’s not a social nicety.

Malavai’s hands tighten on Yon’s body, uncertainty welling up between them but also something that is not quite flattery, not quite joy and as brightly hopeful as both of them combined. “Thank you.”

Yes, this hasn’t been a complete waste of time at all.


	7. Prompt 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Honey the neighbours are summoning demons again. Shall I put out some extra plates?"

Laura is enjoying the sun as she fixes the fence in the front garden when she hears it.

  
She's placidly mending the stray post that's become lopsided somehow, digging the hole and mixing the concrete to really keep it upright this time.

  
Her husband is weeding the back garden and tending to his growing vegetable patch, and she catches the occasional glimpse of him through the side alley where they keep their bins.

  
Their son is out of the house, for once. He's likely enjoying the sunshine, and she has no plans to interrupt him.

  
The sun is shining, the sky is impossibly blue, the concrete is setting nicely, and Laura is surer than ever that the neighbours are summoning demons again.

  
It started out as a joke between her and her husband, what with the heavy rock music that sometimes emanated from an open window, and the occasional chanting that they assumed was some track for the music.

  
Awful sound. Really lowers the tone of the neighbourhood, if you ask her.

  
She heaves herself up with a sigh, inspecting the wet concrete for imperfections. Deeming it to be acceptable, she glances up.

  
There is purple light coming from the neighbours back garden, and she can hear the chanting again.

  
Unbelievable.

  
She peers over at their house.

  
It looks normal enough, but she and the rest of the book club know better.

  
They had been the talk of the cul-de-sac when they moved in, the curtains twitching and coffee being strategically made to peer put of kitchen windows.

  
First it had been a buzz about their removals van. It was huge, and she and the rest of the book club wondered about their new neighbours.

  
The first one they saw looked about right, in his late thirties or early forties, shirtsleeves and glasses. He was nice to look at, they tittered. Just the sort that would fit in with the road.

  
But then the _fiancé_.

  
A younger man! Such a scandal, that.

  
She remembers that he had looked like he stepped off the stage at a rock concert, the ones she’d seen on the TV shows, all tight black clothes, tattoos, ripped jeans and jewellery.

  
The book club had gossiped about him.

  
What if he was in a _gang?_

  
None of them knew what a gang might be like, but he probably looked like the sort, right?

  
He had come to each of their houses to introduce himself, and Mary said she could see satanic symbols hodden in his tattoos.

  
Laura has looked and she can't see any such thing, but everyone knows Mary likes the wine a bit too much. Probably drunk at ten in the morning, that one.

  
He'd brought over a card with their new phone number and a box of cookies that looked homemade.

  
When asked, he'd grinned and admitted to making them himself.

  
... What if they had _extras_ in them? She hadn't wanted to get addicted.

  
She didn’t want to end up under a bridge, looking for her next fix. That was what the forums said would happen.

  
If he was offering them to people, maybe he had been trying to get them hooked?

  
What if he's a drug dealer?!

  
In the cul-de-sac! Unbelievable.

  
She had noted that he had his ears pierced with more metal than she'd seen on one person, and when he laughed, she saw that there was a stud through his _tongue_.

Frightful.

  
She had gotten rid of him from her doorstep quickly after that.

  
She hadn't wanted to invite gossip after all.

  
What kind of place is their little community turning into?

  
The older one hadn't come over to say hello, but he does give awkward smiles when they pass in the street.

  
He seems awkward in general, really. Slightly nervous and when he does speak it's with the kind of diction that she thought sounded awfully fussy.

  
She learned that Mr Quinn was actually _Dr_ Quinn, and she is suddenly even more baffled at why such a professional, respectable man is tying himself to that ruffian who walks around with his shirt off when he mows the lawn.

  
Not that she looks, of course.

  
And then!

  
Just when they got to thinking that the house at the end of the cul-de-sac was halfway to normal, someone apparently began a midlife crisis.

  
What other explanation could there be for the sudden appearance of yet another attractive young man living there?

  
That _cougar_ is clearly collecting a harem of young men, and the new one doesn't even seem to have a _job_.

  
Which meant there's some kind of sordid sugar-baby agreement going on, just like in her books.

  
What was next, a Ferrari and a dye job for his silvering hair?

  
Neither the hellion of a fiancé or the new plaything seem to like wearing shirts, so there is a _house of sin_ with naked young men everywhere in their road and there is nothing she can do about it.

  
The reading club had a lot to discuss _that_ week.

  
Clearly, there is some sort of occult, devil worshipping sex cult going on.

  
She knows Vera has already called the police three times, the first time because she had seen a shirtless young man on the property and assumed that he was there to provide a... _service_. 

  
Apparently, the fiancé had been painting the front door.

  
Dr Quinn is as neat as ever, they seem to have gained a beautiful yet standoffish cat that follows him everywhere, and he has started to have _visitors_.

  
She wonders if it's a rival book club.

  
It had better not be.

  
The chanting abruptly turns into a yelp as something detonates in the back garden and a puff of smoke curls up from over the fence. 

  
Her mouth thins, and she watches as the smoke continues to head upward.

  
A harried looking fiancé slips out of the back gate, his indecently tight t-shirt looking a little frayed and his mop of curls wild. He's wearing an apron with ‘Prick With a Fork' written on it in lurid writing, accompanied by an image of a stylised sausage speared on barbecue prongs.

  
Charming.

  
He spots her watching and pauses like a deer in headlights, sending a beaming smile her way.

  
“Had an accident with the barbecue!” He calls jovially, waving. “Nothing to worry about!”

  
He backs away, still giving her that slightly strained smile, before he retreats and slams the gate behind him.

  
This used to be such a _nice_ neighbourhood.

  
“Honey?” she calls, keeping her eyes on the offending house. It looks suspiciously normal, even if they have painted their door a colour that isn’t on the recommended colour scheme. It's like they're _trying_ not to fit in.

  
“The neighbours are summoning demons again!”

  
Her husband comes trudging up the side alley, his gardening gloves covered with dirt and his sunhat on his head.

  
“They are? Should I put out some extra plates?” he jokes, peering at the offending house. “Looks like a problem with the barbecue. Think they need a hand?”

  
She sighs, displeased.

  
The book club will be hearing of this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Malavai is absolutely mortified when he finds out what his neighbours think of him.
> 
> Ven just laughs.


End file.
